


Never Look Back

by thinkatory



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Clothed Sex, Declarations Of Love, Frottage, M/M, Post-Canon, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23684560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory
Summary: There's a long pause before Hannibal speaks next. "I have wedded my fate to yours," he says; for the first time since Will has known him, there's something uncertain in Hannibal's face. "Did you not feel that?"It's a hell of a question; he doesn't have to ask what that means. Will closes his eyes as he thinks of the warmth of a bloody Hannibal pressed against him, ecstatic and overwhelmed, and he exhales sharply as he considers the feeling in his chest as logically as he can. Then he raises his eyes to Hannibal's, and all logic breaks when he sees the same emotion echoed openly in Hannibal's face.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	Never Look Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Black_piano_keys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_piano_keys/gifts).



> I was bit by this when looking at your letter, I hope you enjoy this late treat!

The first night in the cottage is a complicated one.

Will still hasn't showered or changed since they murdered Dolarhyde. The plunge into the water cleansed some of the blood from his face, but not enough to keep him from feeling marked. He sits heavily on one of the relatively plush chairs, staring ahead at nothing in particular, trying to put it all together.

Hannibal returns to the room, and Will lifts his gaze to find him dressed more casually than usual, a collared shirt with one button open and crisp pants, looking immaculate in comparison to Will's current grunge. There's a moment where Hannibal seems to be assessing what to say, and Will cuts to the point. "I know."

Hannibal's smile is light, easy, small. "We must tend your wounds as well."

"I'm fine." He's not. His face hurts like hell. He's good at pushing pain off, enough practice gained with all the rehab on his shoulder, but this isn't great.

"Will."

Will's gaze goes up again, and Hannibal seems smaller, vulnerable, though little has changed from the last time he looked. He exhales. "Yeah," he says. "Let's do this."

* * *

After his wounds are clean and bandaged, Will eats ravenously before silently going to fall asleep in the large bed in the even larger master bedroom. He estimates it's been about nine, ten hours when he wakes up, and rubs his face without thinking, grimacing.

He pushes himself out of bed; his mind's already trying to sort out where to go from here, what to do, what choices he has, and he takes a short breath to be ready to face Hannibal. He can't wear that all over his face right just to be read like a book the moment Hannibal sees him.

Will stops in the main room as he spots Hannibal comfortably sitting in a chair reading an old book. Hannibal's eyes meet Will's, and his smile doesn't reach his eyes, which are instead tinged with worry. "Good afternoon, Will."

"Afternoon, I guess," Will says, a touch expressionless just out of uncertainty. He moves into the room and sinks onto the couch, rifling through his mind for something to say.

Hannibal beats him to it. "Will you stay here with me?" he asks, to the point.

Before he can stop it, emotion rushes through him and stops his throat. Molly is in the back of his mind, now; Hannibal is in front of him, with his gaze clear-eyed and wanting, and what is he supposed to say? _No, this is wrong, I need to go back?_

It would be a lie. He would be lying to Molly. He would be lying to everyone. And, honestly, what court case could he be facing if he went back into the world as though what he did was wrong and he never intended to do it again?

Will collects himself before he speaks. "I'm here."

Relief overtakes Hannibal, obvious only in his eyes and the slightest shift of posture, and he nods. "Good," he says. "Are you hungry?"

Jesus Christ. Will holds Hannibal's gaze with his own. "So what," he says, "are we just going to play house?"

Hannibal's smile is small, but there. "We must recover, so no further adventures for a time."

"That's not what I mean," he presses, just firmly enough. "How do I know…" He swipes a hand over his face and grimaces again. "God. You know what."

Hannibal looks taken aback. "Will," he starts, careful.

"I have a right to know," Will says, tone level. "Before I commit to… whatever, whatever this is."

There's a long pause before Hannibal speaks next. "I have wedded my fate to yours," he says; for the first time since Will has known him, there's something uncertain in Hannibal's face. "Did you not feel that?"

It's a hell of a question; he doesn't have to ask what that means. Will closes his eyes as he thinks of the warmth of a bloody Hannibal pressed against him, ecstatic and overwhelmed, and he exhales sharply as he considers the feeling in his chest as logically as he can. Then he raises his eyes to Hannibal's, and all logic breaks when he sees the same emotion echoed openly in Hannibal's face.

"Tell me." He refuses to look away from Hannibal, now, and Hannibal seems frozen in place, more careful and delicate than ever before. "Tell me the truth."

Hannibal's smile is fragile; he tries to rise casually, to put his book back on the shelf, and walk back by the chair with an easy posture. "The truth about what?"

Will takes a moment to pull in a breath, then gets to his feet as well to meet Hannibal halfway before he can sit, six inches or less from him now; being this close is terrifying, wonderful, and the clearest reminder of the heat and adoration in Hannibal's embrace on that cliff. He stops himself, then, and it all clicks into place in his head.

"Say it." Will firms his tone, his gaze and posture pointed but soft enough. "Dr. Lecter, are you so frightened to speak your mind?"

Hannibal glances away, his breath caught in his chest, then says it. "You know that I have loved you, Will, if you truly need to hear it."

It's not that Will is surprised, but it stirs everything within him, and he takes the two small steps to be in front of Hannibal, just one half step away from pushing him back into his chair. Hannibal is gentle, now, nerves clear in his face, and Will touches his shoulders experimentally, smoothing his shirt before pressing down into his shoulder blades.

Hannibal gives under him without hesitation, dropping to one knee and another, his eyes on Will's face as he breathes as steadily as he can. There's a moment where Will just looks down at him, feeling each shaky, emotional breath rise through Hannibal's shoulders, then he drops to his knees and slips his hand around Hannibal's neck to draw him into a gentle kiss.

The contact breaks relief through him, but the clearest thing he feels is the connection to Hannibal; he can feel the joy sweeping through Hannibal in the pressure of each kiss, one after another, until Will draws them both to their feet and pushes Hannibal easily into the chair. It's a big enough chair that Will can climb on top of him and kiss him again and again, Hannibal's hands holding him close as welcoming as he can be to Will pinning him tight against the chair.

He's so _pliable_ under Will, and there's something incredible about the sensation of someone wanting him so badly. It's more than sexual, what's happening right now, he thinks they could kiss forever, just relieved to have found someone who truly understands even the sickness they both hold.

As Will breaks away and trails kisses down Hannibal's neck, he doesn't expect Hannibal to speak past the tightness clear in his throat, from his labored breathing. "I dreamed of this," he says, barely audible.

"What?" Will whispers against his skin.

His smile is soft. "You are more than I could have ever imagined, Will."

Hannibal is a monster. Will knows this. But in this moment, he is delicate, beautiful, and completely Will's, and the monstrosity of who he's got pinned beneath him is the most intriguing part and always has been. He catches Hannibal in another kiss, more heated, and Hannibal follows his lead, his mouth pressing harsh back against each hard kiss. Within minutes Will can't resist his curiosity and he's untucking Hannibal's shirt to slip his hands onto bare skin. Hannibal's breath shudders lightly and he arches his hips against Will's.

Will smiles wryly into the next kiss and moves his hands to undo the button on Hannibal's pants, grazing the start of his erection pressed between them. "Patience," he murmurs, and presses another few kisses and a light nip into Hannibal's neck as he slips his hand under Hannibal's silky boxer briefs.

Hannibal's response is immediate, his breath caught in his chest as Will does his best to suppose next steps, stroking his cock until it's even stiffer than Will's got pressed against Hannibal's thigh as well. "What now," Will whispers against Hannibal's throat.

"Whatever you want," Hannibal says, terribly soft, and shifts against Will's hand in the most desperate motion Will's ever seen from him. "Anything."

"Anything?" Will echoes, his grip tightening just enough around Hannibal's cock.

Hannibal is a proud man, but he looks nearer to begging than Will could have ever imagined. "Do you need suggestions?" he asks, light and wry in spite of the heavy heat of the moment.

"I may be able to come up with something." He rests his forehead against Hannibal's, taking in the moment as he pulls his hand away and presses his cock against Hannibal's tantalizingly near-bare own. Hannibal's head falls back a bit, and Will is cognizant of their position in the chair as he seeks the teasing friction with each thrust.

Will's breathing in the feeling when Hannibal's hand touches his cheek and slips into his hair, pulling him into one kiss after another. "Will," Hannibal whispers.

"What do you want?" Will could take in the feeling of Hannibal's _wanting_ for hours. "Tell me what you want."

Hannibal is silent for a moment. "I want you," he answers, voice low.

"You want me to fuck you?" Will prompts, the vulgarity a little foreign, but it seems to stir something in Hannibal, whose gaze is wide-open with desire. "We might have to move."

"No." Hannibal's tone is a bit firmer now. "Here, now."

He doesn't seem to want to lose this moment, lose the heat between them, and Will supposes there's something to that. He kisses Hannibal fiercely now, and Hannibal seems content to bury his fingers tight into Will's hair to keep him close as though out of fear he'll pull back. He has no intention of stopping now, and he fucks his cock right up against Hannibals, shifting just enough to bury his face into Hannibal's neck, right on the edge. Hannibal presses two, three kisses to his neck, his breaths sharp, until he makes a sharp, animalistic sound and seizes Will's hip to press him sharply against him as he comes.

Will is shuddering now, and groans as he thrusts against Hannibal, so close; Hannibal whispers into his ear, " _Yes_ , very good," and Will's breath is choked out of him with the suddenness of his orgasm. He lifts his head enough to kiss Hannibal intently, sure to keep this moment in his mind so he can't look back. He can never look back now.

* * *

Within a week, they're forced to hunt.

Will's doubts are hidden neatly beneath his knowledge that he has made a choice, a choice that was much larger than him. There was no way he could've denied what happened in the cottage, or refused to answer Hannibal as best he could in kind with how he truly felt.

He hasn't said the words yet, but Hannibal seems to understand why.

Hannibal also doesn't have to say it, but this seems easier to do with two people. They corner the detective on the road without a single shot fired, Hannibal injecting the syringe into the detective's throat with practiced ease, and while Will doubted it, it's actually simple enough to move him in the dead of night.

This doesn't feel like the real thing yet, though. Will's pulse is starting to race as he's anticipating what comes next, hoping against hope that Hannibal understands that this is not a clinical game to him and the darkness that clings to his mind now more than ever.

The cottage is dark as they approach and move Detective Lawrence inside, the kill room already prepared. Hannibal casually binds the unconscious detective to the table with the cuffs bolted to it, and nods to the large, intricately carved wooden chest behind them. "There must be something to your liking," he says.

Will kneels and opens the chest, and quietly contemplates the knives and weapons in fastidious place there. He picks one with a wicked edge and straightens, turning to face the detective, who's already stirring.

"Good evening," Hannibal greets the detective.

Lawrence's gaze grows less cloudy. "You," he says, tone still heavy with the drug, and yanks uselessly at the cuffs.

"You would do better to stay still," Hannibal advises.

Lawrence is doing his level best to stay calm, Will notes, and turns his eyes to Will. "We thought you were dead," he says.

"I'm not," Will says mildly.

"I see that."

Hannibal's smile is barely there. "If you don't mind," he says, "we'll move on."

"I do mind, actually," Lawrence says without missing a beat. "Do you think no one is going to figure this out? How long do you think you have?"

"More time now that you're off the case," Will says, easy.

"You were a cop," Lawrence presses on. "You can't do this."

"I was a cop." Will's smile is faint as well. "I'm not a cop anymore."

"Go on," Hannibal says to Will, light and encouraging.

"Don't make us put in a gag," Will advises Lawrence, approaching him as casually as he can, and pushes past the sudden burst of nausea. That's a remnant of the past, of a Will Graham who denied everything he was born with and born to. It still makes his hand shake for just a moment, then he seizes Lawrence's shirt casually and slices it open to bare his chest.

"Perhaps a gag after all," Hannibal muses. "Pardon me." He turns to leave.

"Graham," Lawrence starts, desperation in his tone.

"Sorry," Will says, and the tiniest part of him means it, before he presses the blade into Lawrence's chest; it bites through his skin and draws blood without much effort on his part, and the sight calls to his own blood, makes heat rise in his face and all throughout. He doesn't notice Lawrence toughing it out as he keeps cutting, and wakes up from the trance of the fantastic surrender to see Hannibal finishing with the gag.

"You are enjoying yourself?" Hannibal checks with Will, with some effort to appear casual about it.

Will nods slightly. "What now?" he asks.

"That is up to you."

He glances back to Lawrence, who's staring pointedly at the ceiling. "I could kill him," Will says aloud.

"If you are prepared to do so this quickly," Hannibal concurs.

Will pauses. "Hannibal."

"You have every right to do with an enemy as you please."

Will considers that, then presses the knifeblade into Lawrence's stomach, drawing more blood than before. He presses his fingertips into the wound to cover them in the warmth of fresh blood, and brings them to his face to consider. He barely registers that Lawrence is near-choking on the gag as blood gushes from his stomach, and goes to Hannibal to press his hands to his cheeks, mingling blood with his five o'clock shadow. They kiss, brief and lingering, before Will turns his utterly aroused attention onto the dying Lawrence.

He seizes Lawrence by the thick head of hair, yanks his head back, and slices his throat open with a decisive stroke of the knife. Warm blood spurts onto his face, his shirt to his collar, and he blinks it out of his eyes, his pulse frenetic, his stomach twisting as he straightens.

Hannibal is watching him when he turns. Will's breathless, more in love than he's ever been. They meet in a harsh kiss, and Hannibal presses him to the wall, his hands all over Will, and breaks the kiss to intimately draw his tongue over Will's face to taste the detective's blood. The sensation is nearly too much for Will, and he seizes Hannibal into fiercer kisses yet until they fumble onto the floor of the kill room, much less graceful than either would've hoped.

"Perfect," Hannibal murmurs into his ear as Will grinds his hips against Hannibal's, and Will knows this is the time. They've been toying with the idea silently, playing yet another game of holding back, but now Will yanks Hannibal's pants down even as Lawrence's blood begins to encroach on where they're entwined. He strokes Hannibal in just the way his dreams showed him in the past days in the cottage, and Hannibal is messier and more aroused than Will has ever seen him. It's incredible.

The warmth of Lawrence's blood is pooling by his knees now, but Will doesn't care. He sinks down and begins to inexpertly suck Hannibal's cock, uncertain but eager, until Hannibal guides him. It's new, but it's very nice, not something Will expected to actually get off on; it helps that Hannibal is coming undone as he moves his mouth over the shaft and head, and he's imagining Hannibal underneath him, now, just as desperate.

"I want to fuck you," Will says, low, keen.

"Yes," Hannibal breathes.

Will scrambles to pull his jeans down, to get Hannibal's damned pants off, and all of it's going to have to go in the fire because they're damp with dark red blood. He's near trembling as he strokes Hannibal's cock, slips his hand beneath his thighs, and Hannibal shakes his head. Will stops, uncertain, then Hannibal says, "Just do it, Will."

Ah. Will doesn't waste any time, then, positioning himself between Hannibal's legs and moving him just so, spitting on his hand for some little lubrication and hoping for the best as he presses inside of him.

Jesus. It's not perfect, it's awkward, but Hannibal _is_ ready, tight around him, and he catches his breath to look down at a bloody Hannibal with a gaze full of need before he starts to fuck him.

Hannibal isn't making much by way of noise, but his expression says it all, his eyes alternately shut tightly or open to take in Will above him, taking him harder with each minute. Will looks down at him before leaning in just enough to kiss him once, twice, and he groans, flashes of the murder he's just committed flickering in his brain unbidden.

"Will," Hannibal manages, soft, his fingertips sharp in Will's hips. "Will, please."

Will shakes his head to throw off the thoughts, not unwanted but not relevant, and pulls one of Hannibal's hands from his hip to wrap around his own cock. Hannibal doesn't need more guidance than that, tugging on his cock pointedly as Will thrusts into him, on the verge already. He can hold out, he can manage this.

"God," Will grinds out, and Hannibal grunts and shudders as he comes onto Will's stomach. Will doesn't stop, finally burying his cock hard once, twice, three times again before he yanks himself out and comes on Hannibal's ass.

Right away Will doesn't care about anything but kissing Hannibal until they're out of breath, and Hannibal seems content enough with that, until he breaks and strokes Will's bloody face.

"We have much cleaning to do," he says, gentle.

"Yeah," Will has to agree. "Right now, though?"

"Maybe not," Hannibal muses. "A shower?"

"Yes," Will says immediately, a faint half-smile on his face. "Will you join me?"

Hannibal raises his eyebrows. "Of course."

Will stands, and helps Hannibal up. "Come on."

They leave the clothes and the body behind, and don't look back.


End file.
